Here's a Thanksgiving story and a puzzle and maybe a new tradition, too.

This month (and next month) I’m going to combine my old hobby of writing very short fiction for end of year posts and my new hobby of creating puzzles.  Happy Thanksgiving!

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    I sat in my usual seat for Thanksgiving dinner. Instead of a place card, there was a blank slip of paper and a pencil. I sighed, despite expecting it. “Isn’t it time to retire this tradition? It’s so… weird.”
    “No. I think the word you’re looking for is fun.” My brother Andrew gave me a cheeky grin as he folded up his paper. He’d already written a name.
    My family had a morbid tradition of naming the turkey we were about to eat. We’d done it so long I didn’t remember how it started, but I guessed it’d been Andrew’s idea.
    “I want to name it Solomon,” David said.
    “You’re not supposed to tell us,” Caleb said.
    “But if my name doesn’t get picked, no one will know how good it is.”
    “You can tell us after we pick the name.”
    My little brothers glared at each other for a moment before David backed down. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll write something else.” He stared at his paper looking defeated.
    “Solomon might not be the perfect name for a turkey anyway,” Dad said. “How wise could he be if he ended up on our table?”
    “I meant wise for a turkey,” David mumbled.
    I decided to play along quickly to get it over with. There was a boy in my grade who was super annoying. He called me Abby-Fail instead of Abigail. It made no sense, and that seemed to be why he thought it was funny. I jotted down his name. It’d be ironic for a bird. As I folded up my paper, I saw my mom show hers to David.
    His whole face brightened and he began to scribble on his paper.
    I’m not sure Caleb would have dared to correct Mom, but it was probably best that he hadn’t noticed. He was putting his name in the paper bag Andrew held out to him.
    The bag went around the table for everyone to slip in their names. It come back to Andrew, who always pulled out the winning name. That was another reason I thought he’d started the tradition. He gave the bag a shake while Caleb and David did a drumroll on the table. Andrew reached in, unfolded a paper, and drew his eyebrows together. “This isn’t a name,” he said.
    “That must be mine,” Dad said. He leaned to look over Andrew’s shoulder before he nodded. “You could call a turkey that, and I think it’s going to make him taste better.”
    Andrew laughed and announced our dinner’s name. I was thankful my name wasn’t picked. Dad’s was better.


Puzzle #1 – Fill in all the names the family members submitted for the turkey.

Puzzle #2 – Which name was chosen?

Ready to see the answers?